The next few days were unremarkable in the most comforting way.
Nora went about her routines helping her aunt with wedding preparations, answering emails, running errands but the walk with Ethan lingered in her mind like a soft echo. She found herself noticing small details: the way sunlight glinted off puddles, the smell of fresh bread at the corner bakery, even the gentle hum of a bus passing by. Ordinary things felt…brighter, lighter, because they reminded her of him.
Ethan, for his part, didn't overwhelm her with messages. Instead, they appeared gradually: a short text asking about her day, a photo of a flower he'd noticed on his morning run, a simple "thinking of you" that made her stomach tighten in the best way.
One evening, she found herself walking to the park again, half-expecting him not to be there. But there he was, leaning casually against a lamppost, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the path.
You came, he said, echoing the words from the first walk.
I did, she replied, smiling.
They walked together, slower this time, savoring the quiet and the ease between them. Words weren't necessary at first. The rhythm of their steps, the soft crunch of gravel, and the occasional laughter from nearby children was enough to fill the space.
After a while, Ethan spoke. I like that we don't have to rush anything.
Me too, Nora said. It…feels right. Even if it's just for now.
He glanced at her, a question in his eyes. She nodded, a small reassurance that she wanted the same.
They found a bench overlooking the pond, the water reflecting the golden light of late afternoon. Ethan sat, patting the spot next to him. Nora hesitated, then joined him.
You're different, he said softly. But that's a good different. I mean…you're you, but…..better, stronger.
Nora felt warmth creep into her chest. I didn't know you'd notice.
I do, he said simply. Every little thing.
They sat in silence after that, letting the sounds of the park,the distant bark of a dog, the rustle of leaves fill the space between them. It wasn't dramatic. There was no sudden declaration, no overwhelming emotion. Just presence. Just them.
And for the first time, Nora realized that love didn't have to be urgent or all-consuming to matter. Sometimes, it was in these small steps: a shared smile, a lingering glance, a quiet acknowledgment that someone else was there and that they might stay.
When it was finally time to leave, neither rushed. They walked back slowly, shoulders brushing, hearts quietly agreeing that maybe this…..this careful, tentative closeness was exactly how things were supposed to start.
As they parted at the corner where their streets split, Ethan's hand brushed hers. A fleeting touch, but enough to make her pulse quicken.
See you soon, he said
Soon, she replied.
And as she walked away, Nora didn't feel the emptiness she had feared. She felt anticipation measured, cautious, but real.
Somewhere, something might still happen.
And for the first time, she was willing to wait for it.